Perfect
by inmyeyes
Summary: R/T: AU. Future fic. Inspiration, and love, can come from the most unexpected sources, as Rory finds out. But is reality better than fiction? [In Progress]
1. Muse

**Disclaimer:** The Gilmore Girls characters that you recognize are not mine; they're the brainchild of the brilliant Amy Sherman-Palladino. But the characters that you don't recognize come from the recesses of my crazy brain.   
  
**Author's note:** Am I crazy for starting a new fic? Probably. I'm usually not one to start a new story when I still have one in the works but … sitting by oneself and being bored to death during a lecture about rural life in Southeast Asia really made my mind wander. Heh. Next thing I knew, I was scribbling down ideas and wishing that I had brought my lap-top to school. **This story is AU-ish (some things from canon hold, and some don't) and it's a future fic**, that's pretty much all you need to know at this point. Everything else will be revealed as we go along. Some things may be unlikely, but that's why this is AU: just go with it yo. Heh. I just wanna have fun with this. I'll try to update this as often as I can. No promises though. ;-) And of course, feedback is very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy the story!  
  
  
A big **thank you** to **Grace**, for reading it over and telling me that it didn't completely suck.   
  
  


*** * * * *  
Perfect  
by inmyeyes  
01: Muse  
**

  
  
"It's been almost two months, Rory," Paris Gellar said exasperatedly. She gave the woman sitting opposite her a pointed look. "And I remember that you distinctly told me that you had started working on it!"  
  
  
The woman in question calmly sipped her coffee and beckoned to the waiter for a refill before saying anything. "Paris, you really need to calm down."  
  
  
Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Calm down? You want me to _calm down_? I can't believe you, Rory Gilmore!"  
  
  
"It's not like I can help it, Paris," Rory said, shrugging. "I've tried, okay. But I just sit there, my fingers on my keyboard, and nothing comes."  
  
  
Although Paris looked visibly calmer, her voice was still tight. "Did you try-"  
  
  
"_Yes,_ I did." A pause, then, "Nothing. No words."  
  
  
"I swear, Rory, you're the only writer I know who still uses pen and paper."  
  
  
"You make it sound like I sit by candlelight and write using a feather quill." Rory's lips curled into a grin. "I just don't trust technology enough, that's all."  
  
  
Paris sighed, "You've only got about four months left before the deadline."  
  
  
Rory smiled her thanks to the waiter who filled her cup with coffee and let him walk away before speaking. "I know, you don't need to remind me."  
  
  
"I'm just worried."  
  
  
"I'm not," Rory said, smiling gently. She hurried to reassure, "All I need is some kind of inspiration and the book will write itself."  
  
  
Shaking her head, Paris said, "You make it sound so easy."  
  
  
"It's not easy but it's not difficult either. It just…_ is_."  
  
  
"Oh God, please don't get into one of your philosophical moods."  
  
  
"Oh, this coming from the girl who critically analysed Descartes while drunk," Rory quipped.   
  
  
"Well, I don't like Descartes and-" Paris emphasized, "I was not drunk. I was merely… _tipsy_." She held her hand up when she saw that Rory was about to say something. "The level of alcohol in my blood is not the issue here, Rory."  
  
  
"Sometimes Paris, I wish you were only my friend and not my editor," she sighed.  
  
  
"Tough luck," was the sarcastic answer.  
  
  
"Okay, fine. We can compromise on this. Give me two more weeks and if I still don't have a chapter by then, you're welcome to scream at me for as long as you want."  
  
  
"Thanks for making me sound like a tyrant."  
  
  
Rory sighed. "Paris."  
  
  
"I'm worried because you've never had this problem before."  
  
  
"Writers' block is a common problem, you know," Rory pointed out. "I'm not the only freak who experiences it."  
  
  
Paris held her hands up in surrender. "All right, all right. I'll let it go. _For now_."  
  
  
Rory's smile was grateful. "Thank you. And really, Paris, _don't_ worry. I have a feeling that once this book gets written, it'll be my best one ever."  
  
  


* * * * *  


_  
  
One week later…_  
  
  
"Hello?" came the distracted greeting.  
  
  
"Say it, Paris," Rory urged. She leaned back in her soft armchair and pulled her feet beneath her. Pulling back a loose strand of hair, she sighed loudly. "I just know you're dying to say it."  
  
  
"Say what?" Paris asked. "Could you be less cryptic?"  
  
  
"Fine, fine. Draw out my misery. Just say it, Paris."  
  
  
"What the hell-" Paris broke off, as Rory's incoherent babbling finally made some semblance of sense to her. "_Oh_."  
  
  
"Damnit, Paris," Rory cried out frustratedly. "How difficult is it to say 'I told you so'?"  
  
  
She was quick to offer her sympathy. "Still stuck, huh?"   
  
  
"Yeah," was Rory's mumbled answer. "_Now_ I'm getting worried."  
  
  
Paris easily switched modes from editor to friend. "Look Rory, you said it yourself: these things pass. All you need to do is get out of your house, go _somewhere_ and just people-watch. You never know what you might find."  
  
  
Rory groaned. "I'm so desperate, I just might do that."  
  
  
"Just out of curiosity," Paris asked cautiously, "does this have anything to do-"  
  
  
Rory snorted. "No, it's got nothing to do with the fact that the last date I was on was three months ago and that it was so abysmal that it made me seriously consider swearing off men."   
  
  
"You know, for a woman who's had three best-selling romance novels, you are far too cynical," Paris commented.  
  
  
"I am _not_ cynical," she protested loudly. "I just have very strong opinions about love and relationships. I'm a realist."  
  
  
"You're a r_omantic realist_."  
  
  
"There is no such thing."  
  
  
"You can be the first of its kind," Paris suggested.   
  
  
"No-"  
  
  
"Remind me again: who was the guy you were last out with?" Paris asked, cutting off whatever it was her riled-up friend was going to say. "Did you actually give him a chance? Or did you, as always, just-"   
  
  
"Why are you talking about such an inane matter?" Rory demanded. "We've got more important things to consider!"  
  
  
Again, Paris ignored her. "You've been this rut for so long because you let it happen. And you're way too picky. You're even pickier than _I_ am, and that's saying a lot."  
  
  
"Excuse me?" Rory sputtered.  
  
  
"How can you write about romance when you don't have any romance in your life?" was the pearl of wisdom from Paris.  
  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Gellar," she muttered sarcastically.  
  
  
"I have an idea-" Paris began.   
  
  
"No, no, no," Rory quickly interrupted. "No more ideas. I'll go out, breathe in some fresh air and see what happens."   
  
  
Rory hung up before Paris could say anything.   
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
She took Paris' advice.   
  
  
Thankfully, it was a warm, sunny day which made sitting on a bench in Colt Park infinitely more comfortable than it would have been had it been December. Placing her favourite pair on sunglasses on her nose, she leaned back against the tree trunk and gracefully accepted the shade provided. Then she pulled her bag closer to her and pulled out her thermos of coffee and a blue spiral notebook. She uncapped a pen (the one she had dubbed World's Most Perfect Pen because of the smooth way the ink glided across the page), flipped the pages of the notebook until she got to a pristine white page and wrote the date at the top of the page.   
  
  
Then her eyes drifted upwards, taking in the surroundings. To her left was the playground, full of children running around. The sound of laughter and squealing reached her ears and for a moment, Rory's lips tilted into a small smile. She was half-tempted to walk over and have a turn on the swing but the voice of Paris (_which_, she thought wryly, _doubled up as the voice of my conscience_) rang in her head. Resisting the urge to sigh, she turned her attention to her right. Along the paved walkway, she saw people taking a walk, cycling, rollerblading but none of them caught her eye.   
  
  
Her gaze roamed again, this time settling on the grove of trees not too far in front of her. She glimpsed a young teenage couple sitting on a plaid blanket under a tree. The variety of food laid out before them told her that they were having an intimate picnic and the look in the young man's eyes as he brushed his lips lightly across the girl's spoke of his love for her. Unbidden, Rory felt something inside of her clench.   
  
  
The next thing she knew, her pen was flying across the blank page.  
  
  
Ten minutes later, she stopped to read what she had written; only to sigh and tear the page out.   
  
  


* * * * *   
  


  
Dipping her hand into the large bowl, Rory was dismayed when she found that it was empty. Sighing, she turned it upside down, hoping for at least one kernel of popcorn. All she got was grease sliding down the sides of the bowl.  
  
  
"Great, just great," she muttered, wiping her fingers on her old, ratty bathrobe. She dreaded the thought of moving from her comfortable position on the couch to make more popcorn. Instead, she reached for the bag of potato chips on the table.   
  
  
Munching happily on her chips, her attention fully on _Runaway Bride_, Rory was vegging out after an unproductive day. She had stayed at the park for almost three hours but all she had to show for it was only two pages of very rough ideas. Everything else was a blank. Finally, as twilight set in, she had packed up her things, dropped by the Chinese restaurant near her apartment for take-out and trudged home for some much-needed relaxation.   
  
  
The sound of the ringing phone intruded, causing her to sigh heavily. Grateful that she had the foresight to place the cordless phone within reach, she picked up the call. "Say whatever it is you wanna say, and say it fast," she muttered, her eyes still trained on the television screen.   
  
  
"Rory Gilmore," said the caller chidingly, "that is not how you should answer the telephone."  
  
  
Rory winced and sat up straighter when she realized that it was her grandmother on the phone. "Sorry, Grandma," she apologized, "I'm just been having a bad day."  
  
  
"That's no excuse for rudeness, young lady."  
  
  
"I know, I'm sorry."  
  
  
Emily Gilmore hmphed, but let the matter go. "How've you been, dear? How's the book coming along?"  
  
  
"It's not been going too well," Rory answered. Not wanting to dwell on that, she quickly asked, "Is there a reason for your call, Grandma?"  
  
  
"You know that your grandfather's birthday is coming up in a few days."  
  
  
"Yes, I bought him an antique pocket watch that I think he'd like."  
  
  
"How lovely," Emily remarked. "Anyway, I'll be throwing a party for him and your presence is required, of course. It'll be on Thursday evening, at our house. You'll be there, won't you?"  
  
  
She bit back a sigh, knowing from experience how dreary parties like this one could be. "I'll be there."  
  
  
"Good. That's good." Emily sounded disgruntled when she said, "I had to practically threaten your mother before she agreed."  
  
  
Rory wasn't surprised. "You know how my mom is, Grandma."  
  
  
"Yes, unfortunately, I do," she sighed. "All right then dear, I'll see you on Thursday."  
  
  
The call from her grandmother having thoroughly ruined her movie-watching mood, Rory dialled the number she knew by heart and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. "C'mon, c'mon," she mumbled, tapping her fingers against her thigh.   
  
  
When a breathless "Hello?" reached her ears, she smiled her first genuine smile of the day. "Couldn't find the phone, huh?"  
  
  
Lorelai perked up at the sound of Rory's voice. "Hey babe, you know me too well."  
  
  
Rory laughed. "Maybe you should get a phone that actually has a cord," she suggested. "The chances of you misplacing it would be much lower."  
  
  
Lorelai made a face. "But that would mean that I'd be immobile when I'm talking on the phone. And you know how easily bored I get. Plus, I'd probably get tangled up in the cord and trip."  
  
  
Rory had to grin at her mother's line of reasoning. "So, I hear that you were coerced into going to Grandma's shindig on Thursday."  
  
  
"Damn right, I was coerced," Lorelai said heatedly. "My mother actually blackmailed me. Emily Gilmore _blackmailed_ me! It was preposterous."  
  
  
Rory wanted to laugh but knew better than to show her amusement. "What exactly did she blackmail you with?"  
  
  
"Baby pictures."  
  
  
"_Naked_ baby pictures?"  
  
  
"No," Lorelai clarified. "Just baby pictures."  
  
  
"Explain to me how_ baby pictures_ are blackmail material."  
  
  
"They are when you had an enormous head as a baby," Lorelai said. "And when said pictures are from your baptism and you're wearing a horrendous gown full of ruffles and lace and flounces, which only serves to highlight your huge head."  
  
  
"I count myself lucky that I was not afflicted with that," Rory quipped.   
  
  
"Yeah," Lorelai agreed. "You should thank your father." Without pausing, she went on, "So, how's it going?"  
  
  
Rory slouched back against the couch, frowning. "It's not going."  
  
  
Lorelai's voice was full of concern as she asked, "Are you feeling okay?"  
  
  
"Fine," she said dismissively. "Just a little stressed."  
  
  
She was too in-tune with her daughter and knew that Rory was feeling worse than she cared to admit. "Do you want me to come over? I can be there in thirty minutes with junk food, coffee, a tub of Ben & Jerry's and a Brad Pitt movie."  
  
  
Rory smiled. "Can we watch _Legends of the Fall_?"  
  
  


* * * * *   


_  
Thursday evening…_  
  
  
"Oh God," Lorelai moaned, lifting the cup of coffee to her lips and taking a sip. "We've only been here ten minutes and I can already feel my brain cells screaming out in pain and slowly dying."  
  
  
"Mom, be nice," Rory admonished. "It's Grandpa's birthday."  
  
  
"I _am_ being nice," she said defensively. "I actually brought a present."  
  
  
Rory narrowed her eyes in suspicion, knowing her mother's propensity for giving wacky and unorthodox gifts. "An actual present? A _good_ present?"  
  
  
Lorelai shot her an offended look. "_Yes_, I got him a respectable-looking tie."  
  
  
"Wow, you must have exercised a wonderful amount of restraint," Rory commented.  
  
  
"Yeah," she sighed. "I had my eye on this great tie with pink elephants."  
  
  
Rory laughed, the mental picture of her grandfather wearing such a tie vividly in her mind. "I'm sure Grandpa will appreciate your self-discipline."  
  
  
Lorelai was only half-paying attention, her gaze roaming over the crowd before latching onto someone standing on the other side of the room. "Well, well, it seems like we've found the eye candy for the night." Turning to face Rory, she winked and tilted her head discreetly towards who she had been referring to.   
  
  
Nonchalantly, she let her eyes travel slowly across the mass of people until she saw their quarry. Leaning against the doorframe leading to the dining room was a tall, blonde man who was –it seemed- charming the pants off the lady he was talking to. He was dressed perfectly in a dark suit, exuding confidence, power and –Rory noted with a slight shiver- blatant masculinity. She could only see his profile from where she was, but what she did see told her that this man was good-looking. After taking inventory of his form, her stare travelled back to his face in time to see a smile stretch across his lips.   
  
  
Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it.  
  
  
A hard nudge to her side brought her attention back to her mother who was watching her carefully.   
  
  
Lorelai arched one slim brow, grinning all the while. "You like what you see?"  
  
  
She raised her glass of champagne to her lips, stalling for time. Her eyes drifted back to him for a second before she answered casually, "He's a good-looking man."  
  
  
"A very good-looking man," Lorelai agreed. "Unfortunately for me, he seems closer to your age than mine."  
  
  
Rory simply shrugged.  
  
  
A devious sparkle came into Lorelai's eyes. "I dare you-"  
  
  
Her jaw dropped open at those words. "No _way_. You're not daring me to do anything."  
  
  
Crossing her arms in defiance, Lorelai gave a mock-innocent smile. "Yes, I can. It's a mother's prerogative."  
  
  
"I can still get Grandma to pass around those baby pictures," Rory said threateningly.   
  
  
Lorelai didn't look bothered; she rubbed her hands in glee and said, "I dare you to walk over to Gorgeous Man and talk to him for fifteen minutes."  
  
  
"No," came the firm answer.  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
Rory sighed, seeing the determined sparkle in Lorelai's eyes. "Five minutes."  
  
  
"Ten," she stuck out her hand, "and you've got a deal."  
  
  
Eyeing the pro-offered hand with misgivings, Rory finally accepted the dare. "I have one word for you, mom: payback."  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
She had been watching him surreptitiously for the past half an hour, waiting for an opportunity to approach him. But he was always surrounded with people and Rory despaired that she would never be able to catch him alone. Still, she delighted in studying him, watching the way he interacted with people, his mannerisms and appreciating his good looks.   
  
  
_This is a stupid idea,_ she thought, cursing herself for taking the dare. _I'm gonna look like an absolute idiot. _  
  
  
Wanting to stamp her foot in frustration, Rory drained her glass of champagne and foisted off the glass on the waiter. Taking a last look at the blonde man, she decided that it was a futile endeavour. She would get a much-needed cup of coffee before conceding defeat to her mother.   
  
  
After whispering her request for coffee to one of Emily's maids, she mindlessly nibbled on a tiny sandwich, hoping to look inconspicuous. God, she hated these parties sometimes. _And these damn sandwiches are too small,_ she thought as she polished off her third piece.   
  
  
"Those things really are too small, aren't they?" The voice echoing her thoughts jolted her back to reality. Licking her lips and swallowing the last of the sandwich, she turned around.   
  
  
Her eyes collided with ones so blue that they reminded her of a summer sky. Hoping that she had managed to hide her surprise, she took a deep breath and smiled.   
  
  
Seemed she didn't need to seek out Gorgeous Man; he had found her.  
  
  
"I need to eat ten of those things before I feel satisfied," Rory remarked, striving to sound casual and not at all flustered.   
  
  
Up close, he was even more attractive than she had imagined… and the nagging feeling she had gotten earlier came back. Casting a glance over his shoulder, she spied Lorelai giving her the thumbs-up. Her mother really was something and that thought made her smile widen.   
  
  
"Ten?" was his somewhat incredulous answer. She felt his eyes slowly take her in and she fought the urge to blush. His eyes back on hers, he beamed a smile, "It doesn't show at all." She didn't miss the appreciative glint in his eyes. Again, she wondered what it was about him that seemed familiar.   
  
  
She inclined her head in thanks and said, "I have a wonderful metabolism."  
  
  
He laughed and other stab of recognition hit her.   
  
  
_ Who is he?_ she wondered. "I haven't seen you around before," she said lightly. "Is this your first time at a Gilmore party?"  
  
  
He smiled and Rory was reminded again of someone. "Not quite. I've been away for a few years, working in the British branch of the company. And my grandfather was good friends with Mr. Gilmore." Thankfully, he decided to introduce himself. Holding out his hand, he said, "I'm Tristan-"  
  
  
_DuGrey_, her mind completed. The pieces finally fit.   
  
  
"-DuGrey, by the way."  
  
  
She fervently hoped that he didn't catch her shock at his identity. Numbly, she offered her own hand; the feel of his lips on it brought her crashing back to earth. He was looking expectantly at her and Rory realized that he was waiting for her to introduce herself.   
  
  
He didn't remember her. _Not that he has any reason to_, she reasoned.   
  
  
"Nice to meet you, Mr. DuGrey." She gently pulled her hand away and gave a polite smile. "I'm Rory Gilmore." She held her breath, waiting for some spark of remembrance from him.   
  
  
But there was none.   
  
  
Irrationally, she felt disappointed.  
  
  
"Mr. DuGrey is my father. Please, call me Tristan," he implored. "You're Mr. Gilmore's-"  
  
  
"-granddaughter," she supplied.   
  
  
"Oh yes, he talks glowingly of you."  
  
  
A tap on her shoulder made her spin around and she found that the maid had returned with her cup of coffee. Smiling her thanks, she took the cup, grateful for the diversion. "Well," she tried not to stumble over his name, "Tristan, I-"  
  
  
"You haven't had your fill, right?" He gestured to the platter of sandwiches. "How about we make our way to the kitchen and demand some_ real_ food?"  
  
  
She had to laugh at the mischievous way he smiled and the beseeching way he held out his hand to her.   
  
  
She found herself giving in.   
  
  


* * * * *  
  


  
She was sitting on the ground in her grandparents' garden with her shoes off, a cool breeze blowing her hair off her nape and a half-eaten BLT sandwich in her hand. And beside her was Tristan DuGrey.   
  
  
Tristan DuGrey: the guy who had been the most popular and sought-after guy in high school. She remembered meeting him on her first day at Chilton and being utterly bowled over by his swaggering self-confidence. For a short while, she had thought that maybe he had been somewhat interested in her. But before long, his attentions on her diminished, as apparently it did with all girls. Once, after she had befriended Paris, she had tentatively asked about Tristan. Paris was quick to disabuse any notions she had about him. After that, he rarely crossed her mind but every once in a while, she wondered about him.   
  
  
It had been years since high school –almost ten years, Rory reflected- and since they had not run in the same social circles and weren't even acquaintances, it wouldn't be reasonable to expect him to remember her. He had been the big Kahuna, and she was only a small fish in the sea.   
  
  
"Do you do this often?" was her query.   
  
  
After swallowing his bite of sandwich and washing it down with soda, he quirked a brow at her and said, "Do what?"  
  
  
"You know," she waved her hand around, "skip out on parties and charm the servants into feeding you."  
  
  
He winked. "Only when there's a beautiful woman involved."  
  
  
She flushed, but she hoped that it wasn't evident in the dim light. "So I was nothing more than an unwilling victim?"  
  
  
His smirk made him look 16 again. "Somehow, the words 'unwilling' and 'victim' don't seem to fit the situation."  
  
  
"Okay, then." She amended her words, "How about '_unsuspecting_ victim'?"  
  
  
"Oh, were you?"   
  
  
She looked baffled. "Was I what?"  
  
  
"Unsuspecting." He smiled teasingly. "It didn't seem like you were."  
  
  
She struggled not to smile. "That's because I know your kind, Tristan DuGrey."  
  
  
"My kind?" Her words piqued his interest. "What exactly is my kind?"  
  
  
Brushing all bread crumbs from her lap and grabbing her heeled sandals, she slowly stood up, aware that his eyes had followed her motion. "The kind that entirely too charming for his own good." And he really was... which was why she thought that it would be prudent for her to leave before he intrigued her even more than he already had. Her lips curled up into a bright smile. "Thank you for the sandwich, Tristan."  
  
  
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and made her way to the sliding doors that led into the house. She hesitated when she reached them and indulged her urge to look back at him.   
  
  
He was still looking at her, a small smile playing about his lips. With his jacket off, his tie loosened and his already tousled hair ruffled by the light wind, he painted an attractive picture, looking even more handsome and relaxed than he had been earlier. Taking a breath to still her pounding heart, she took one long last look at him and smiled.   
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
The moment she reached home, she reached for her notebook and pen and started scribbling.   
  
  
She didn't fall asleep until five in the morning.   
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  



	2. Swept Away

**A.N:** Wow, I didn't quite expect the awesome response. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. I stole a line (I hope I got it right!) from the movie 'A Walk To Remember'. If you have a brilliant memory (or love Shane West, or love the movie, or all three), you'll know which one it is. I just had to; it fit perfectly. Hope y'all enjoy this. : -)  
  
  


*** * * * ***  
**Perfect**  
**by inmyeyes**  
**02: Swept Away**  


  
  
  
The doorbell rang for the fifth time and finally, Rory accepted that whoever it was at her door wouldn't just go away like she hoped they would.   
  
  
  
Sighing, she hit 'save' and got up to answer the door. Pulling her glasses off and securing her hair with a clip, she padded her way through the apartment, desperate to get back to her writing. Mentally, she was running through what she had written so far and planning her next words. This interruption could not have come at a worst time.   
  
  
  
She had been writing pretty much non-stop for the last three days. In the course of her career, and even prior to it, she had discovered that she worked best at night. So, for the last few days, she would write through the night until dawn slowly brightened the sky and the sounds of the world awakening jerked her out of her concentration. She would then draw her curtains, bathing her room in darkness and get some respite from her churning thoughts. In the mid-afternoon, she would finally wake, have a late lunch. Then the routine would start all over again.   
  
  
  
The days since she had begun writing her novel had been particularly hard on her. She was still working out the little kinks in the plot and fleshing out her characters; her mind was always working. When she wasn't actually writing, she'd be furiously scribbling in her notebook, hoping to get everything in her head down on paper.   
  
  
  
It was exhausting… but it was a good kind of exhaustion.   
  
  
  
Paris' irate face greeted her when she swung the door open. "What took you so long?" Without waiting for an answer, she brushed past Rory and stalked into the apartment, seating herself on the couch.   
  
  
  
Wearily, Rory closed her front door. "Hi Paris, how are you? I'm fine. Really good, actually. I'd be better if you didn't catch me at a bad time."  
  
  
  
At her friend's babbling, Paris finally took a good look at Rory. Her hair was sloppily tied up, she was wearing pajamas and the dark circles under her eyes told of the few hours of sleep that she had gotten.   
  
  
  
"What the hell happened to you?"   
  
  
  
Rory sunk onto her favourite armchair and leaned her head back. "Inspiration happened."  
  
  
  
Rory missed the way Paris' eyes lit up. "That's great!" When there was no echoing response from Rory, her smile vanished. "Isn't it?"  
  
  
  
"It is," Rory replied. But there was absolutely no enthusiasm in her voice.  
  
  
  
"You don't sound too pleased."  
  
  
  
No answer.   
  
  
  
"Rory? What's wrong? What inspired you?"  
  
  
  
"You don't want to know," was the mumbled answer.   
  
  
  
"Oh yes, I do," Paris asserted. "I sat through your whining when you had that block, so I deserve to know what eliminated it."  
  
  
  
"Remember high school?"  
  
  
  
Paris snorted. "Unfortunately."  
  
  
  
"Remember Tristan?"  
  
  
  
"Tristan?" Paris' forehead scrunched up in confusion. "You don't mean _Tristan DuGrey_?"  
  
  
  
Rory closed her eyes and an image of him popped into her mind. Her eyes immediately snapped open and she sat up. She echoed Paris' earlier answer, "Unfortunately."  
  
  
  
The pieces of the puzzle finally fit and the result was surprising. "Tristan? _Tristan_ made you start writing again?"  
  
  
"In a manner of speaking, yes."  
  
  
  
"Unbelievable."  
  
  
  
"Tell me about it," Rory muttered under her breath.   
  
  
  
"How did this happen?" Paris demanded.   
  
  
  
"He was at my grandfather's party."  
  
  
  
The explanation wasn't enough. "And?"  
  
  
  
"And," Rory lifted her shoulders, hoping to seem nonchalant about it all. "We kinda talked."  
  
  
  
Paris arched her brow, knowing that Rory was only giving her the bare essentials. "You _talked_?"  
  
  
  
Rory groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Nothing happened, Paris! Get your mind out of the gutter."  
  
  
  
"Maybe if you told me exactly what happened, I wouldn't have to come to my own conclusions," she pointed out, crossing her arms in a show of defiance.  
  
  
  
"He didn't remember me."  
  
  
  
Paris caught the underlying despondency in Rory's voice. "Did you expect him to?"  
  
  
  
"No. Yes." She shook her head. "I don't know."  
  
  
  
"It's been a long time since high school. And-"  
  
  
  
"I know, Paris," Rory sighed. "I know. But…there's just something about him."  
  
  
  
"That's what all women say," was Paris' dry remark.   
  
  
  
Rory's tone was equally dry. "Thanks so much."  
  
  
  
Paris scrutinized her friend… and a somewhat unwelcome conclusion came to her. "You like him."  
  
  
  
Rory bristled at the accusatory tone. "I don't."  
  
  
  
She snorted. "Like hell you don't."  
  
  
  
"He's just fascinating."  
  
  
  
The phrase jogged something in her memory. She searched her mind, trying to place it until she finally recalled a conversation from long ago. "Oh my God, you liked him then too."  
  
  
  
"What are you talking about?"   
  
  
  
"Back in high school." Paris' eyes were as wide as saucers. "You liked him."   
  
  
  
"I did not." Rory repeated, "I just think he's fascinating. _That's all_."  
  
  
  
The agitated look in Rory's eyes made her back off… for the moment. "So, how far along are you?"  
  
  
  
"Middle of chapter three." Rory shot her a pointed look. "_Someone_ interrupted me."  
  
  
  
"You are too wound up. You need a break. Let's go out for dinner," suggested Paris.  
  
  
  
"I really want to get back to writing."  
  
  
  
"Have you eaten at all today?" The guilty look that crossed Rory's face was all the answer she needed.   
  
  
  
"Fine," she gave in, getting up and stretching her aching muscles. "I feel like Italian today."  
  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  
Rory Gilmore.   
  
  
  
Essentially, all he knew about her was her name. And that she was exquisitely beautiful. So, he had asked around, wanting to find out all he could about the woman whose smile made his breath catch.   
  
  
  
He was surprised when he found out that she had been in Chilton and that, since they were the same age, they had been in the same class. Why couldn't he remember her? Granted, his teenage years were spent flitting from one girl to another, never lingering long in a 'relationship', but he was sure that he would have noticed a girl like Rory Gilmore.   
  
  
  
Somewhat desperate, he had resorted to flipping through his old yearbooks, hoping for a glimpse of Rory Gilmore as a teenager. There were a few photographs of her: she had been on the staff of the Franklin and had apparently been good friends with the trio of Paris, Louise and Madeline. But, for the life of him, he didn't have any concrete memory of her.   
  
  
  
Looking at the old pictures, he had some vague remembrances of sharing a few classes with her. But otherwise, it was all a blank.   
  
  
  
It hit him finally one afternoon when he was encased in his large airy office, half-listening to his secretary recite his schedule to him.  
  
  
  
"Mary."  
  
  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. DuGrey?"   
  
  
  
He smiled apologetically. "Can we continue this later, Sharon? There's something I need to do."  
  
  
  
The blonde woman gave him a puzzled look but nodded her acquiescence.   
  
  
  
When the door clicked shut behind her and he was all alone, he walked over to the glass windows lining one side of his office and looked out, his thoughts firmly on Rory.   
  
  
  
His mind was filled with hazy visions of him cornering a brunette girl against the lockers, calling her 'Mary'. She had been unresponsive –_more like hostile_, he mused- to his advances and spurred him at every chance. Then some other girl had caught his interest and Rory Gilmore was erased from his mind as he chased after a more willing female. After that, he didn't give her a second glance.   
  
  
  
He was a class one jerk in high school, he now realized, with nothing on his mind except for girls and sex. If he hadn't been blessed with natural intellect, he doubted that he would have graduated with the amount of time he spent doing… other things.   
  
  
  
The past aside, he recognized that he was interested in Rory. Very interested. The question was: what was he going to do about it?  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
"So, tell me about Tristan," Paris urged, taking a bite of her pasta.   
  
  
  
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You've known him longer than I have."  
  
  
  
Paris shrugged. "It's not as though we've been bosom buddies since childhood. If you remember correctly, we ran in opposite social circles in Chilton: he was popular, I was not."  
  
  
  
"We didn't have a deep, meaningful conversation, Paris. It was more like…" She took a drink of water, trying to search for the appropriate description.  
  
  
  
"_Flirting_," Paris completed the sentence. "It was more like flirting."  
  
  
  
"I _don't_ flirt!" Rory protested. "I don't even know how."  
  
  
  
Paris laughed. "Oh, you know how. Believe me, I've seen you in action."  
  
  
  
Rory crossed her arms and gave her a challenging look. "Okay, give me one instance in which I was flirting."  
  
  
  
"Columbia. Freshman year. When we first met Jess." Paris' smile was triumphant. "You were flirting with him. It was subtle, but it _was_ flirtation. And he ate up your every word."  
  
  
  
Rory nearly choked on her slice of pizza. Her eyes widened in incredulity. "I was being _friendly_."  
  
  
  
Paris sighed. "Look, Rory. It's not like it's a bad thing. You're not some expert flirt… but subconsciously you do it. And guys come running."  
  
  
  
Rory hmphed. "Well, someone should have given me the memo. _I_ never knew."  
  
  
  
Paris waved her hand dismissively. "Can we get back to the subject of Tristan, please?"  
  
  
  
"All I know is that he's been in Britain for the past few years, working in the branch of his family's company. And he likes BLT sandwiches."  
  
  
  
"And from all that, he somehow got the wheels turning in your head?"  
  
  
  
"He's-"  
  
  
  
Paris nodded, rolling her eyes. "Yes, yes. You've already said that he's fascinating. And let me guess… he's still as handsome as ever, isn't he?"  
  
  
  
Rory made a noncommittal sound, focusing instead on chewing.   
  
  
  
"He's still the same roué that he was in high school, isn't he?"  
  
  
  
"I love that word: roué."  
  
  
  
"Don't try to distract me with vocabulary."  
  
  
  
A gleam came into Rory's eyes. "Why are you so interested in Tristan anyway? Do _you_ still harbour a crush on him?"  
  
  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Paris admonished. "I have better things to do than pine over him. I just haven't heard anything about him in so long." Quickly, she went on, "I have an idea."  
  
  
  
"I swear, Paris… you and your ideas are gonna be the death of me," Rory groaned.  
  
  
  
"Remember me telling you that you need romance? Well, this is your chance."  
  
  
  
A confused look settled over her face. "_This_ is my chance? What exactly do you mean, Paris?"  
  
  
  
"Look, I'm willing to bet that some things haven't changed. Tristan DuGrey is probably still the Casanova he was back in high school. He's probably become a master at seduction. And he sparked off your writing."  
  
  
  
Rory shook her head at the expectant look at Paris was giving her. "I'm still not getting the picture."  
  
  
  
"I'm just saying that it might be useful for you to…" she gestured wildly, "you know…" At Rory's blank look, she elaborated, "Go out with him. Date him. Let him seduce you."  
  
  
  
Her jaw dropped in shock. "Please tell me you're kidding."  
  
  
  
"Think of it as research."  
  
  
  
"Let him seduce me? Are you out of your mind, Paris? I mean, really… you've had some crazy ideas in the past, but this is the cincher."  
  
  
  
"Think of how it could benefit your writing."  
  
  
  
"You are _insane_. You've officially usurped my mother's throne."  
  
  
  
"I think it's a good idea."  
  
  
  
Rory still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea, unable to believe that her friend- her rational, logical friend- had actually suggested it. "Assuming I go through with his hare-brained idea of yours, how exactly would I go about _letting him seduce me_?"   
  
  
  
"You just need to be in some of the places he goes to-"  
  
  
  
"You mean, I have to throw myself at him?"  
  
  
  
"-and like I said, you'll do your subtle flirting… and voila. Mission accomplished."  
  
  
  
Rory shook her head. "You missed your calling to be a matchmaker."  
  
  
  
"Just think about it."  
  
  
  


* * * * *  
  


  
As she walked back to her apartment, Paris' suggestion floated through her mind. It was a completely preposterous idea and she couldn't believe she was considering it.   
  
  
  
Well, she wasn't considering it per se… but she was letting her mind wander to places it shouldn't. Places which involved lips and hands and warm skin and touching and a whole lot of tingles… oh boy, she really had to stop.   
  
  
  
_Okay_, she said to herself, _I'm attracted to him. So what?_   
  
  
  
For a few minutes, she concentrated on weaving her way through the crowded streets and emptied her mind of any inappropriate thoughts about a certain blonde man. But her restraint didn't last very long. Cursing her fertile and overactive imagination, she quickened her steps, wanting to be back in her apartment as fast as she could.   
  
  
  
She needed to write.   
  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  
Tapping her fingers against her jean-clad thigh, Rory willed the queue to move. She peered over the shoulder of the petite woman in front of her, and inwardly groaned when she saw that the man at the head of the line was arguing with the barista.   
  
  
  
She wouldn't be standing in line at the Starbucks around the corner from her apartment if her coffee maker hadn't broken down. She had tried to revive the poor, loyal thing that had worked marvelously for years but it had died a swift death. Eager for some caffeine, she actually left the sanctuary of her apartment, even though she knew that lunch hour would mean long lines.   
  
  
  
As the queue moved an inch forward, she pulled out her trusted notebook from her tote bag, making use of the time to jot down some ideas.   
  
  
  
"Hello, Rory Gilmore." The smooth voice tickled her nape and as awareness rushed through her body, her eyes widened. Snapping her book close, she spun around, her eyes meeting clear blue ones.   
  
  
  
Clutching her notebook to her chest, she smiled in greeting. "Hello, Tristan DuGrey." This time, he was dressed casually -black slacks and a rumpled light blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up- but that crazy effect he had on her senses remained.  
  
  
  
"Fancy meeting you here."  
  
  
  
"Yeah." She didn't miss the appreciative sparkle in his eyes. Self-consciously, she brushed back a wayward strand of hair.   
  
  
  
"I found out something interesting."  
  
  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
  
  
Tristan raised his brow. "It seems like you forgot to mention that you went to Chilton."  
  
  
  
"Minor detail," she said casually. "It was a big school. We didn't know each other then anyway."  
  
  
  
"Well, I'd like to rectify the situation."  
  
  
  
She was too busy admiring the strong line of his jaw to pay full attention to his words. "Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
"Will you be free on Saturday evening?" he asked.  
  
  
  
When his lips curled into that devastating smile, she found it difficult to concentrate. "A date?"  
  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
  
Paris' voice echoed in her head: _Go out with him. Date him. Let him seduce you_. "With you?"   
  
  
  
His smile widened. "Yes."  
  
  
  
_Unbelievable_, she thought. _It's like he listened in on that conversation._ "You're asking me out?"  
  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
  
She returned his smile. "Yes."  
  
  
  
"Great. And for now," he nudged her forward, "I can buy you coffee."  
  
  
  
A flush crept up her cheek when she realized that in her absorption with him, the queue had moved and she was the next to order. "Are you sure you wanna buy me coffee? I'm warning you now: I'm not a one-cup kind of woman."  
  
  
  
"I think I can handle that. I'm a big coffee-drinker myself."  
  
  
  
That, and buying her three Tall vanilla lattes, put him firmly in her good graces.  
  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  
"So he bought you coffee and you spent an hour talking to him."   
  
  
  
Rory smiled as she remembered that afternoon. "Yeah, it was nice."  
  
  
  
Lorelai sighed. "I'm jealous. You're going out with Gorgeous Man."  
  
  
  
Holding the phone between her shoulder and ear and trying to put on lipgloss at the same time was a taxing affair. "Mom, I told you: his name is Tristan."  
  
  
  
"He'll forever be Gorgeous Man to me," came Lorelai's dramatic answer. "So where is he taking you?"  
  
  
  
"I don't know." She checked her reflection in the mirror. "He said to dress up."  
  
  
  
"Dress up? Must be a fancy place. What are you wearing?"  
  
  
  
"The off-shoulder deep red dress."  
  
  
  
"Ooh," Lorelai cooed. "You're pulling out all stops, aren't you?"  
  
  
  
"Mom!"  
  
  
  
"Sweetheart, you're wearing the dress; _the_ one dress that's guaranteed to turn any man into a pile of goo. It's the equivalent of Cinderella's ball gown, the gorgeous black dress that Julia Roberts wore in _Pretty Woman_ for her date with Richard Gere, the-"  
  
  
  
Rory sat down on the edge of her bed and sighed. "I know."  
  
  
  
"Good choice," Lorelai quipped.   
  
  
  
"Mom!"  
  
  
  
"Hey, we're talking about Gorgeous Man here. He's worth it."  
  
  
  
The chime of the doorbell cut their conversation short.   
  
  
  
"I've got to go. That's probably him." Slipping her feet into her heels, she slowly made her way to the front door.  
  
  
  
"Have fun, honey. Call me when you get home, no matter how late. I wanna hear about everything. Ev-ery-thing."  
  
  
  
Rory laughed. "Okay Mom, I will. Bye."  
  
  
  
Throwing the phone onto the couch, she ran a hand down the front of her dress and took a deep breath.   
  
  
  
"This is it," she mumbled. Then she opened the door.  
  
  
  


* * * * *  
  


  
  
"Don't you trust me to keep my eyes closed?"   
  
  
  
Tristan wound the silk scarf over her eyes and tightened it until he was sure that her eyes were covered. "Nope, I want you to be completely surprised."  
  
  
  
Once she was settled in her seat, he turned the ignition and the Cadillac sprung to life.   
  
  
  
"So I guess I shouldn't bother asking where we're going."  
  
  
  
"My lips are sealed."   
  
  
  
Rory continued pestering him all the way to wherever it was they were going, but he refused to give her even a hint.   
  
  
  
"We're here?" she asked when the car finally came to a halt after a 15-minute drive. She heard a car door slam and then a whoosh of cool air hit her as the door on her side opened.  
  
  
  
His hand reached for hers as he helped her out of the car. "Not quite." As he undid the knot that secured her blindfold, he whispered, "Tell me Rory, how do you feel about flying?"  
  


* * * * *  
  


  
  
The sky was awash with a palette of blues and oranges and yellows; Rory had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.   
  
  
  
Her mind was still reeling from the exhilaration of being up in the air.  
  
  
  
Slanting a glance at the man next to her, she admired his beautiful profile and the intense concentration on his face.   
  
  
  
Out of all the things, she never thought that Tristan would have a pilot's license and that they were flying to New York. He still kept mum about exactly what they would be doing in New York… but if his other surprises were anything as spectacular as this one, she'd have no complaints.   
  
  
  
Oh, she was definitely looking forward to the rest of the night.   
  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  
Nothing was quite as enchanting as watching Rory getting caught up in the action on the stage. Tearing his eyes away from her enraptured expression, he turned his attention back to the stage just in time to see the end of the duet and the lingering kiss between Christine and Raoul.   
  
  
  
Beside him, Rory sighed and brushed away a stray tear.   
  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  
"I thought that we were done with all the blindfolding stuff," Rory complained good-naturedly. After the end of the musical, Tristan had insisted on a blindfold again, wanting their next location to be a surprise. She wasn't quite sure where they were now, but from the chirping of the birds and the feel of the brisk night air against her skin, she knew that they were outdoors.   
  
  
"Okay, okay… hold your horses, I'm done."   
  
  
  
Once he pulled off the scarf, she slowly opened her eyes, wanting to savour the moment. She bit back a gasp when she saw the scene set before her.   
  
  
  
They were in a quiet and secluded area of Central Park: there was a blanket spread on the grass with an elaborate array of food arranged on it. Candles bathed the area in a romantic glow and there was a bouquet of tulips lying near the edge of the blanket.   
  
  
  
Turning to him, she couldn't help but smile. "Are you trying to seduce me?"  
  
  
  
He laughed, and the rich warm sound vibrated through her body. "Why?" He leaned forward to whisper, "Are you seducible?"  
  
  
  
Rory was thankful that the lighting was dim because she was well-aware of the blush that stained her cheeks.   
  
  
  
He saved her from answering by tugging on her hand. "C'mon, let's sit down. I'm hungry."  
  
  
  


* * * * *  
  


  
  
Empty containers were littered around them and the bottle of white wine was already half-empty. Dinner had been relaxed and peaceful, filled with easy conversation and laughter.   
  
  
  
Sitting side by side, with a blanket thrown over both their legs, the two of them sat in comfortable silence and let the stillness of the night envelop them.   
  
  
  
"You know," Rory began, breaking the silence, "I didn't expect this."  
  
  
  
Tristan turned his head and gave her a questioning look.  
  
  
  
She let her gaze stay on him for a moment too long before speaking again. "To be swept off my feet." She let out a light laugh. "I certainly expected to be charmed… but this, this is above and beyond being charmed."  
  
  
  
He didn't know what to say to that. "That's a good thing, right?"  
  
  
  
"How could it be a bad thing?" There was a pause. Then she asked, "Do you do this all the time?"  
  
  
  
"Date?"  
  
  
  
She shook her head. "Fly a woman to New York, go to the theater, have a moonlit picnic," she clarified. "Is this an everyday thing for you?"  
  
  
  
"Do you think it is?" he asked, his voice quiet as he studied her expression.  
  
  
  
Her tone matched his. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking."  
  
  
  
His eyes were intense when he looked at her. "It's not everyday that I meet a woman like you."  
  
  
  
She let his words pass, uncertain if there was any truth in what he said or if they passed his lips without thought.   
  
  
  
"Rory?" He sounded uncertain. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
  
  
"No," she shook her head. "I was just… thinking. About tonight."  
  
  
  
He relaxed slightly. "What about tonight?"  
  
  
  
"It's been amazing. Unforgettable. Thank you."  
  
  
  
"It was my pleasure."  
  
  
  
Something thrummed in the air and Rory sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself. It was now that moment in a romance novel when the hero and heroine would be caught in an intimate situation and the sexual tension between them was like a tight string, waiting to snap. Then one of them- usually the man- would throw all caution to the wind and do what both of them wanted: he would kiss her.   
  
  
  
And damnit, she wanted him to kiss her. All night long, there had been little touches and those looks that lingered a second too long… and it had driven her crazy. She had been half-tempted to end the torture and kiss him but her iron will held her back. Plus, some anachronistic part inside of her wanted to be romanced by him.   
  
  
  
Her instincts didn't fail her: slowly, Tristan's hand came up to lightly brush against her cheek and the caress sent her stomach into flutters. Her mind chose that exact moment to replay one of her more vivid fantasies and the images that assaulted her doubled the anticipation.   
  
  
  
The kiss started out tentatively; a slow, tantalizing brush of lips that gained in pressure as moments passed. It wasn't enough- at least, not for her. Her hand moved up his chest, resting at his heart and feeling the patter of his heartbeat, before snaking around his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. That was all the encouragement he needed: his own hand delved into her mass of wavy hair, holding her captive against him as the kiss deepened into a tangle of lips and tongue and dizzying emotion.   
  
  
  
His kisses were electric and drugging and she could hardly think of anything else but getting closer to him. She didn't know how but soon, she was lying on her back, his warm lean body over hers. His lips had moved on from her mouth, raining kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, shoulders… and every inch of bare skin he could find. And when his mouth finally found hers again, it was she who pulled him closer until their bodies were flush against each other.   
  
  
  
The contact was savoured for a few moments before Tristan moved away, using his arms to support himself. Groaning, he gave her a last kiss before pulling away completely.  
  
  
  
"We should stop."  
  
  
  
Looking at him with his mussed hair, eyes still glazed with desire and kiss-swollen lips, the word 'no' almost passed her lips. In the next moment, common sense returned to her and she acknowledged that he was right.   
  
  
  
Smiling sheepishly, she let him help her up into a sitting position. "Yeah, we should."   
  
  
  
She was raking her fingers through her hair, hoping to bring to it some semblance of tidiness, when she caught him looking at her intently. Her fingers paused and feeling the dryness of her lips, her tongue slid out to wet them.   
  
  
  
The action wrenched a groan from Tristan and in the next moment, she was back in his arms.   
  
  
  
They should have stopped, but they didn't.  
  
  
  


* * * * *  


  
  
  
**A.N:** Okay, I actually have no idea if the whole flying a private plane thing is possible/allowed so if it isn't, please just go with it. Heh. And this whole last section? The result of reading waay too many romance novels. ; -) The word count is a little screwy for some reason: the chapter is really only half as long as ff.net says it is. Weird. Oh well.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Overwhelmed

**A.N: **Really, the reviews are making me smile. Thank you. I'm still a little 'Eh' about this chapter but I doubt that staring at it another day will do any good. For now, this is it. ;-) 

**  
  
**

*** * * * *  
Perfect  
by inmyeyes  
03: Overwhelmed**

Groaning, Rory clamped her eyes shut against the intrusive stream of sunlight that filtered through the partly-drawn curtains. She threw an arm over her face and snuggled deeper into the warmth behind her. There was an answering moan that sounded close to her ear and simultaneously, the strong male arm that she didn't realize was slung across her waist tightened, bringing her into close to a sleep-warmed body. And suddenly, the sleepy haze that she had been caught in evaporated. 

_Oh God_.

The feel of soft cotton sheets against her skin told her that she was certainly naked, and since she couldn't mistake his nudity, she was pretty damn sure of what had happened. Hell, she didn't even have to think hard to remember _exactly_ what had transpired. It was all clearly emblazoned in her mind, in sordid detail and technicolour glory. 

Damn her flawless memory.

An iron-clad will ensured that her body remained relaxed and pliant to his touch; the last thing she needed was for him to be aware that she was freaking out. Of course, even while she was trying to think rationally, her body was awash with the feel of his body cuddled to hers… and she couldn't ignore the shiver that shot through her when his lips unerringly found that spot behind her ear that never failed to turn her into a puddle of goo. And when his lips travelled to his earlobe and tugged lightly, she favoured the heady oblivion that he offered over the machinations of her mind.

The hand that had been innocently lying on her waist slowly crept up her torso, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She caught his fingers with hers, bringing them up to her lips and lightly kissing them. She felt the chuckle pass through him and yelped as he gave her a playful nip on the shoulder. 

With a bright grin, she turned in his arms, all earlier thoughts gone from her mind. All of her focus was on him: the sleepy look in his sky-blue eyes, the messy blonde hair sticking up in spikes and the smile that curved his lips. 

When he spoke, his voice was little more than a husky whisper. "Good morning, Rory," He tugged her closer until she was almost half-sprawled on top of him. "Did you sleep well?"

She drew back so that she could see him and rolled her eyes when she saw the mischievous look in his eyes. "I would have," she answered, trying to keep from smiling, "but _someone's _snoring kept me awake most of the night." 

His jaw dropped. "I do _not _snore," he protested. In a quick move, he rolled her over so that she was on her back and her hands were trapped in his. He leaned closer, ignoring her laughter and her wriggling attempts to get free. "And you know damn well that it wasn't my snoring that kept you awake."

Her grin was all the answer she gave. After giving him a quick kiss, she wriggled her away from under him and got off the bed, wrapping the sheet around her body as she did so. Her not-so-quick reflexes resulted in her stumbling as he pulled on the other end of the sheet. She shot him a murderous look through the curtain of brown hair that hung over that face. 

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, just trying to stop you from getting any further away from me."

She raised her brow and couldn't help smiling. "Oh, really?" Before he could say anything, she loosened her grip on the sheet and allowed it to flutter down until it lay in a rumpled heap on the parquet floor. Her grin was triumphant as she made her way to the attached bathroom, heedless of her nudity. _He's already seen everything anyway, _she reasoned, inwardly giggling at her boldness.

But just as she reached the bathroom door, a pair of hands clamped around her waist and lifted her off the ground.

"Tristan!" 

She squirmed in his firm grip and demanded to be let down and he finally complied when they were both in the shower. When she opened her mouth to speak, the spray of warm water from overhead spilled into her mouth and in the next instance, his lips were on hers and whatever she had wanted to say was lost forever.

* * * * *

Closing her front door behind her, Rory leaned against it, closed her eyes and let out a breathy sigh. 

"That must have been some date."

Her eyes snapped open and she saw Lorelai lounging on her couch with a cup of coffee in her hand, looking very amused. She wiped the dreamy smile off her face and busied herself by taking off her jacket. "Hi Mom."

"I was up until about 3am, waiting for your call. So I got a little worried." Lorelai lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "What if Gorgeous Man was actually some kind of murderer? What if you got in an accident and they didn't know how to contact me?" 

Delaying the inevitable interrogation that she knew her mother would put her through, Rory went to the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee. 

"Of course," Lorelai's voice rang throughout the apartment, "The one thought that _didn't cross my mind was, 'What if Rory succumbed to Gorgeous Man's seductions?'. I mean, I did consider for like a second but then I remembered that you're you and you're not me."_

Sitting down in her favourite armchair, Rory asked, "What do you mean 'I'm me and I'm not you'?"

"I thought that you didn't put out on the first date." Lorelai grinned teasingly. "I guess I was wrong."

She laughed, knowing that the flush that pinked her cheeks was telling. 

Lorelai waited, but no information came from her daughter. "You know, this is when you tell me that you're still a virgin and how it was all innocent; that there was some freak rainstorm that made the roads inaccessible and so you had to stay over at his place."

Rory shook her head, grinning at her words. "Mom!" 

"Okay, okay," Lorelai conceded. "The virgin part is obviously untrue; but at least tell me that there was a rainstorm."

"It was a lot more interesting than that, believe me."

Immediately she covered her ears, "Please, no details!" After a moment of consideration, Lorelai lowered her hands. "On second thought, maybe-"

"Mom!"

Lorelai smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "Tell me all. Okay, maybe not _all._"

Rory curled her legs under her and leaned back against the soft cushions. "Well, he flew us to New York…" 

* * * * *

Curled up in her armchair with a knitted afghan over her shoulders, Rory absent-mindedly nibbled at the end of her ball-point pen as a mental picture of her character floated in her mind. She glanced down at her spiral notebook, perusing the list of character traits she had agonized over before starting her manuscript. The name 'Julian' headed the list and the first thing written down was 'blonde'.

The image in her mind quickly morphed into one of Tristan. She felt warmth infuse her body at the lingering memory of their love-making… and the furious writing that had ensued once she had been able to sit down at her computer to write. Thinking of the chapters that she had churned widened her smile. She was extremely pleased with the way the story was developing… and she couldn't deny that Tristan was the catalyst that seemed to make her creative juices flow. 

Looking down the page again, Rory laughed as she noticed that many of the qualities she had imbued into Julian were characteristics that she saw in Tristan- or, most accurately, characteristics that she _thought he displayed. _

As a writer, she learnt through experience that often, the best way to glean information was through observation. Armed with her perceptiveness, Rory felt that she was a relatively good judge of character. It was her job as a writer to listen and to notice the little things and she had certainly done that with Tristan. And all the good things she saw in him, she put into Julian. 

Closing the notebook, she leaned back and let her mind wander. A few minutes later, with a smile etched on her face, she made her way into the study and sat down to write.

* * * * *

"What was so important that you had to see me?" 

"I got a phone call yesterday," was Paris' mysterious answer. 

Rory took a bite of her cheesecake as she examined the excited look in her friend's eyes. "And?"

Paris paused dramatically before announcing, "You're a RITA finalist!" 

She almost choked on her vanilla latte. "Excuse me?"

"'_Special Kind of Something_' is a finalist for 'Best Long Historical Romance'," Paris clarified, smiling broadly. 

"Oh my God." 

"I know! This is big." Paris swung her arms about, "This is _really _big."

"Oh my God."

Paris' excitement dimmed when she noticed Rory's lingering shocked expression. "Rory, are you okay?"

Still in a daze, Rory nodded. "Yes, I'm just… _wow." She smiled as she said, "I remember that when you first read it, you told me that that book would be __it."_

"Paris Gellar is never wrong."

Rory's smile widened as she let up her cup in a salute. "Yes, you never are. Fortunately."

They had known each other for far too long; Paris knew that Rory was talking about more than just about her professional success as an editor. "What else am I right about?" 

Rory cradled her cup in her hands. "Tristan. You were right about Tristan. He's perfect. The date was perfect. And the sex was pretty damn good too."

Paris' interest was piqued. "Perfect?"

She took a moment to reminisce about their date and felt a tiny flutter in her stomach at the thought of him. "He's the quintessential leading man." 

Paris took a sip of her own coffee and gave Rory a pointed look. "You didn't tell that you're dating him. I see you took my advice."

"We're not dating. We had a date- our first and only- last Saturday."

_This is turning out to be very interesting_. "And there was sex involved?" 

"If you had been on that date with him," Rory remarked, "you would understand why." She grinned. "Besides, I distinctly remember you telling me to be seducible."

"I suppose his charm has only increased through the years."

Rory laughed. "It makes me thankful that I resisted him back in high school. I would have been way over my head with him."

"If you had any inkling at all, you would have _run the other way as fast as you could."_

"True." 

"Why him?"

Rory didn't quite understand why Paris was asking. "What do you mean?"

"You've been out with good-looking men before, Rory, but you always shot them down. Why him?"

"I don't know." 

Paris groaned. "Please don't give me that whole he's-fascinating spiel again!" 

She became serious, hoping to get Paris to understand. "He swept me off my feet, Paris. He really did. He made me feel like I was stuck in a romantic movie. He was like the Johnny to my Baby." 

Laughing, Paris deepened her voice and said, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!"

Ignoring the dig, Rory went on. "It was-" 

She knew that once Rory _really _got going, it was difficult for her to stop, a Gilmore trait she inherited from her mother. "Can you give me the Cliff Notes' version?"

Rory gave her an impatient look but answered a simple way that she knew Paris would appreciate. "I wanted him; it was as easy as that."

"As easy as that?" 

"It seemed so."

* * * * *

  
Drumming her fingers on her keyboard, Rory tore her eyes away from the blinking cursor on the screen and sighed. Using her feet, she pushed herself away from the table and proceeded to swirl her chair around slowly. As the chair turned in a complete circle and she caught sight of the wall behind her computer screen. 

Thanks to Lorelai, who was of the belief that good-looking men could provide her with inspiration (and eye candy whenever she was sick of staring at the computer), posters of stars like Brad Pitt, Paul Walker, Hugh Jackman and Shane West lined the wall. And, at Lorelai's insistence, the posters had to be half-naked posters, "for optimal viewing". Paris had burst out laughing the first time she saw the wall. After that, she made sure that the door to her study was closed whenever she had guests (which, admittedly, wasn't very often).

Lorelai had been immensely supportive of her choice to be a novelist; she had been surprised when she found out what genre of novel Rory wanted to write but she never once wavered in her support. Telling her grandparents was a slightly trickier affair; Richard had been somewhat amused and Emily was dismayed and it took time for them to get used to the idea. Of course, once Rory's first book was released and after it landed in the top ten best-selling list, they had been completely won over.

The low rumble of her stomach reminded her that she had missed lunch in favour of writing. Standing up, Rory took a moment to stretch her cramped muscles before going to the kitchen in search of food. 

The search proved unfruitful; Rory groaned as she realized that the last time she went grocery shopping was almost two weeks ago. There was nothing left except expired pop-tarts and old soured milk. She would have to go to the store and stock up on food; she slumped against the refrigerator at the thought.

The sound of the doorbell shook her out of her little pity-party. She was hoping that it was Lorelai at the door, bearing food. 

It turned out that the person did bring food, but it wasn't Lorelai.

* * * * *

When the door swung open, he had a ready smile on his face; a smile that widened at the sight of Rory. His eyes immediately gravitated to her long, shapely legs that were topped by a pair of denim shorts. It was matched with a rainbow-coloured t-shirt with sleeves that hung over her hands. She looked more like a carefree teenager but the slump of her shoulders and her messy ponytail spoke of her tiredness. 

"Tristan?"

Sheepishly, he grinned. "Hi." He held up the box of pizza in his hands. "I come bearing food."

"You're a lifesaver," she gushed, opening the door wider and inviting him in. 

"Sorry for just dropping in like this," he apologized as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg near the door. "I was driving home from work and I just decided to come over in the spur of a moment."

It was true; it was an impulsive decision and he rarely give in to his impulses but the constant thoughts of her whirring in his mind ever since their date pushed him into giving in. 

"Believe me," Rory's muffled voice sounded from the kitchen, "you have impeccable timing." She emerged with napkins and plates and set them on the living room table with the pizza. "You saved me a trip to the store. What drink can I get you?"

"Whatever you have is fine."

She grinned, pushing a loose strand of hair back from her face. "Okay, soda it is."

He watched her departing figure, his eyes unabashedly focusing on her swaying hips. Shaking his head at his one-track mind, he turned his attention elsewhere and surveyed the room. 

The apartment was suitably spacious; the living room was large and airy with furniture that was chosen more for comfort than aesthetic value. The living room opened up into the kitchen and to another hallway that he presumed led to the bedrooms. 

A wall of framed photographs gained his attention and when he examined them, he saw that they were moments caught in time of Rory and the various people in her life. A particular one stood out to him- one of Rory and a smiling blonde girl in what looked to be a university campus- and when he searched his mind, he realized that the blonde was not other than Paris Gellar. 

"My mom was the one who put up all those pictures," said the voice from behind him. He turned slightly to see Rory's eyes roaming the display and a small smile playing about her lips. "She said that if I ever felt alone, I could see this and know that I'm loved."

He watched as her eyes misted over and felt an answering tug in his stomach. He laid a hand on her shoulder and waited until she looked at him before speaking. "Your mom sounds wonderful."

"She is," she said simply. Just as quickly her pensive mood evaporated and the Rory that he had come to know in their few meetings was back when her lips curved into a cheery smile. "Enough of that, I'm famished. Let's eat."

Silence reigned; Rory was busy savouring the hot pizza which tasted like heaven after a day of self-imposed hunger whereas Tristan feigned interest in his, not really knowing what to say. 

Rory licked her fingers after having her second piece, satisfied now that the gnawing in her tummy was silenced. Looking back, she was taken aback to see Tristan's eyes watching her intently. 

Her self-conscious "What?" made him laugh. 

"Do you know freaky it is that you were watching me eat?" 

He shrugged, but his smirk spoke of his amusement. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," she retorted. "You enjoy making me feel uncomfortable."

"I do _not._" He hurried on before she could interrupt. "Seeing a little thing like you practically inhale that slice was surprising." 

"I'm not a 'little thing'," she protested, "and I'd have you know that I'm capable of much more than that." Grinning, she said, "I've had some interesting eating contests with my mom."

He matched her grin but decided to steer the conversation into another direction. "I see you got my flowers," he said, pointing to the tulips that were sitting in a vase on the side-table.

Smiling into Tristan's eyes, she answered, "They're beautiful, thank you."

He didn't look away. She didn't look away… and very quickly, the casualness of the atmosphere dissipated into something a lot more awkward. 

He wanted to kiss her- that was the one thing he had wanted to do the moment she opened the door. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have thought twice about just doing it but something about her made him doubt himself. 

Maybe it was the way she seemed to want to keep a distance between them. That didn't make much sense in his head since they had already slept together, but he still sensed her aloofness, probably because he was so adept at it himself if he chose to be. She wanted him- that much he knew for sure- but any of her feelings beyond lust was a mystery to him. 

The tension got to him first and he caved in by asking, "I saw the photo of you with Paris Gellar. You still keep in touch with her?"

"I have to," she laughed. "We work together. And we're great friends."

"You two work together?"

"She's my editor," Rory answered. "I remember you told me that you were working in London but you never did tell me exactly what you do."

He let her turn the conversation to him, sensing her veiled reluctance to talk about herself. "I'll be taking over the family business eventually… and London was basically a training ground."

"How did you like it there?"

"I wasn't too keen on the weather and driving on the other side was hell at first," Tristan laughed. "But it's a beautiful city and it's just so lively and vibrant."

Rory sighed. "Next time I go on holiday, I'm going to Britain. I've always wanted to go; the history is fascinating. I love the Regency era."

"I'm partial to the Elizabethan era myself."

"That was a great period for literature and music. But, as a writer, I'm just completely captivated by the high society in Regency England."

Quirking his eyebrow, "You're a writer?"

Rory shook her head. "I thought you would have figured out that much by now." 

"So, those times when you were off in la-la land, that wasn't because I was boring you?" Tristan gave a loud overdramatic sigh as he jokingly wiped his forehead. "Phew. You had me worried for a second there."

She laughed at his antics. "I dunno… you did lose me when you were talking about the mechanics of flying a plane."

Putting on a rather credible English accent, he promised, "I'll endeavour to keep you interested next time, m'lady."

"Another reason for me to go to England, the accent just kills me," Rory sighed. "Did you use to watch _Buffy? I always thought that Spike's accent was iffy… but Mr. Sark, now _that's_ a man who had a sexy British accent."_

"Should I be wary of this Mr. Sark?" was Tristan's oblivious and semi-confused question.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You've never watched _Alias?" _

Tristan shrugged. "Never watched _Buffy either."_

Rory's exclamation was full of disbelief. "Did you not watch tv at all during your teenage years?" 

"Of course I did." 

"Please don't tell me that you watched _Baywatch," she begged, rolling her eyes slightly. _

"No." He smirked as he said, "I watched _Baywatch: Hawaii." Laughing, he dodged the cushion that Rory threw. "Seriously though, I did like _C.S.I. _I remember that, for a little while, I actually considered going into forensic science. Then I realized that Chemistry wasn't my strongest suit."_

"I don't think that Chemistry was anyone's strongest suit. Except maybe Paris'. She was- _is_- good at everything."

He nodded his assent, recalling that Paris had been valedictorian. "So now you know that I'm less than perfect. What's your one failing?"

"Am I allowed only one?" she joked. It seemed like her mouth worked faster than her mind because her answer popped out with candor. "Relationships." 

"Relationships?"

Mentally berating herself for letting that one slip, Rory gave a casual shrug. "I suck at them. And I suck at meeting new people." 

"You didn't do too badly with me," he smiled. 

"That's because you're decidedly skilful when it comes to stuff like that." Her lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile. "Believe me, it is painful when both parties suck at it."

"Okay, let's give this a go." He pasted an overly bright smile on his face. "Hello, I'm Tristan."

There was a half-baffled, half-amused look on her face, but she played along. "Hi, I'm not interested."

Something about her teasing smile made his stomach tie into knots and that urge that he had tried to bury resurfaced. He reached out to cup her cheek, the motion quickly sobering her but she didn't draw back. Instead, she let her eyes rest on his and that familiar blaze that had taken them under on their date sparked into life. 

Her lips were the same- soft, lush, inviting… and this time, with a hint of the soda she had been drinking. Eager for more, he leaned forward, trapping her body against the armrest and deepening the kiss as his hand pulled the elastic off her ponytail and buried itself into its luxuriant mass. In response, her hand snaked underneath his shirt, rubbing circles against his warm skin and slowly pushing him further into oblivion- an oblivion that he welcomed with open arms. 

Moments passed as lips and mouths reacquainted with each other and hands relearned the places that drove the other wild. Feeling usurped whatever rational thought each had. Once alive, the fire could not be doused and the couple let themselves drown in the unrelenting sea of passion. 

* * * * *


End file.
